You're Not Alone
by randomitegirl
Summary: Following a near-death experience connected with Samaritan, Harold encounters some old friends and learns once and for all that they are not fighting Samaritan alone.


Head notes: So a couple of months ago I came up with this idea. It stems from how many deaths have happened on the show and I wondered what would happen if some of those characters were still fighting. I figured that them being dead is okay as long as they are doing something awesome from beyond the grave. And although I went a different route with the HR takedown I decided to include canon deaths for this story only. This is a continuation of my story "Aftermath." Enjoy!

You're Not Alone

_Prologue_

_Harold rubbed his eyes as he graded yet another test in his office. He could tell that Sharon Thompson had spent the night before cramming. He thought back to his time at MIT. Had he been this casual as a student? He shuddered to think he was. He remembered one weekend he'd spent with Nathan and Arthur and some female company when he had a Final the next Monday. Lucky for him, Harold had always been good at testing and had nailed a 89%._

_That same luck didn't seem to be on Sharon's side. He finished grading her test and stepped out to take a break. He walked back into the room a few minutes later and froze in the doorway as he noticed someone sitting at his desk. Someone with orders to kill._

_"Hello, Harold, was it?" The blonde Samaritan operative asked as the blood drained from his face. It took a moment for him to recover._

_"I'm sorry, who are you?" he asked, hoping he could buy some time._

_"I wouldn't expect you to know me, but rest assured you won't have to worry about it for long," she said, taking out a handgun._

_Harold backed away in protest, knowing full well he could not dodge a bullet._

_The gun went off and a hot searing pain ripped through his abdomen. Harold cried out as he fell, landing flat on his back. He pressed his palm to the wound in his torso, feeling sick at the amount of blood running though his hands. He gasped, helplessly struggling to control his breathing as Martine moved to stand over him. Fear gripped him as her eyes locked onto his, a mild excitement gleaming from them._

_"It was nice meeting you, Harold," she said, pointing the gun down at him._

_She looked up at the sound of gunshots outside the office. She tilted her head and, almost robotically, turned away. She walked out the door where there were more gunshots. Harold was getting really dizzy. _Shock must be setting in_, he realized. He suddenly noticed how cold he felt and how the wound in his abdomen burned like an inferno. He tried to sit up, gasping as the pain in his side flared up. There was so much pain. It was driving him insane. He wanted to pass out, to die. At least then the pain would stop._

_His eyes drooped closed as he heard several voices calling his name._

Harold. Finch? We need to get him to the safe house. SHE says he might make it if we can get him there.

_There were other words but they all became blurred as he sunk into the depths of unconsciousness._

XxXxXxX

Harold blinked. He didn't know where he was or what was happening. The last thing he remembered was Samaritan's operative, (Martine?) cornering him in his office.

Somehow she had found him and all he saw was her gun pointed at him before a deafening bang landed him wherever he was.

Was he dead? It was a reasonable assumption. Distantly, in the back of his mind there was pain, a dull ache in his back as well as a distinctively sharp pain in his abdomen. Yet it was as if he was...disconnected from it.

That's when he noticed his body, an I.V. in one arm, a heart monitor checking his vitals to the side of the hospital bed. He recognized the safe house that doubled as a hospital room. There were strips of bandages around his torso where Dr. Madani had treated it. So not dead.

Mr. Reese was by his side, his face a fierce, unreadable mask. Bear sat with his chin on the bed looking at Harold's hand as if hoping it would move and scratch his ears.

"You never quite get used to it," a familiar voice said behind him.

Could it be? Turning around, Harold came face to face with a man he hadn't seen for five years.

"Seeing your body for the first time," Nathan added.

"Nathan?" his voice choked on the name.

"It's good to see you, Harold," Nathan said. Nathan looked exactly like he had last seen him. Calm and collected. He was even in the same suit conveniently unruined by the violence of the Ferry Bombing.

He wasn't alone. Arthur was with him as well as Detective Carter. Arthur looked worried but better than before he had died. And Detective Carter looked as radiant as ever.

"It's great to see you too, Nathan," He said. "And Detective, allow me to say I am glad you are here too"

"Not detective anymore," she corrected. "Can't collar the bad guys from beyond the grave."

"Regardless, you will always be a detective in my eyes," he insisted warmly.

"You didn't forget about me, did you?" Arthur said jokingly.

"Of course not," Harold answered. This was unbelievable. It was spectacular. He didn't think there were words in any language that could describe what he was feeling.

"Nathan, the last time we spoke, really spoke," Harold began. He didn't know how to continue. "I'm-"

"It's okay, Harold," Nathan said.

"I'm sorry. You wouldn't have died if it weren't for me," He finished.

"Harold, It's as much my fault as it is yours," he said. "I don't blame you for my death. If it's anyone's fault it the government spooks that killed me. But funny, I don't see them trying to apologize."

Harold nodded.

"What are you all doing here?" he asked.

"What we've always done," Nathan answered, "Looking out for you."

"What do you mean 'looking out for me?'" Harold asked.

"Well, surely you didn't think we were going to let you face Samaritan on your own," Arthur said.

"On my own?" He repeated. "What do you mean? You were dead."

"What, you think just because we're dead we can't hold our own in a fight?" Nathan asked smugly. "We can interfere with technology. I suppose it's poetic. I'm a better programmer dead than I ever was alive."

"But how?" Harold asked.

"For some reason, our build-up doesn't agree with digital information," Detective Carter. "So-"

"Let me guess, you hid our faces from Samaritan," Harold realized. _I thought it was the Machine__._

"Not exactly," Nathan said. "Your machine was already doing that. We took a more active approach."

"Like what?" Harold asked.

"Every time one of you started reaching beyond the parameters of your covers, we would scramble and confuse the information before it could reach Samaritan," Nathan explained. "Put into simpler terms, we basically hard-coded it to forget that it ever happened."

Harold was still confused "But then they still found us. They found Ms. Shaw. They found me," Harold said. "How?"

"Well, you've said it many times, it's an artificial intelligence," Arthur said.

"It started noticing a pattern, started...fighting back," Nathan put in. "It couldn't see us, but it still could...sense us. At least, it could sense that something was interfering with the information."

"We had to get even more aggressive in our efforts to contain it," Arthur added. "We had to find other ways to fight it. After a day or two we'd find a strategy that worked then two weeks later it would realize what was happening and it would start to work its way around that."

"Another thing we learned how to do was to create information," Nathan said.

"Create it?" Harold repeated.

"Like how you got here," Carter said. "We saw that woman going to your office so we contacted John, Shaw, and Fusco. Apparently Root already knew though. We told them that you were in danger and that they should come prepared."

"But how did you contact them?" Harold asked, trying to wrap his mind around it.

"Like we said, somehow our build-up can manipulate digital information," Carter reminded him. "We dove into their phones and manipulated the digital data to spell out a message."

"They got there just in time to hear the gunshot," Nathan said. "They brought enough firepower to adequately challenge her."

Harold shivered as he took in all this information. All his life he'd believed that once you were dead, that was it. You couldn't do anything. Doomed to watch as your friends carried on and struggled to go on without you. There seemed to be a lot more to death than it looked like.

"How did you know you could do all this?" he finally asked after a moment.

"The truth is we didn't," Detective Carter said. "It was an accidental discovery. We came together and pooled our resources. We didn't even know if anything would work. We just experimented and it did."

"So now what?" Harold asked.

"Well, according to the doctor, your body is in critical condition," Nathan said. "If you want to stay, we could use your help. We would continue to fight to protect everyone, especially your friends. And we would fight to destroy Samaritan."

"And if I wanted to go back?" Harold asked.

"Well, they need you there too," Nathan said. "If you wanted to go back, it would be a fight, but you could pull through. The four of us would still protect you from Samaritan while you guys fight to destroy it."

Harold thought about it. It was tempting to leave his body. To be free from pain and fight Samaritan from this side of the grave. But he looked at Mr. Reese. He thought about Ms. Shaw and Ms. Groves and Detective Fusco. They needed him. To be honest, he would probably be of much better use alive than dead. Out there, he knew computers backwards and forwards.

He was about to voice his decision to Nathan and the others when something odd was triggered in his memory.

"Wait," he whispered. "The _four_ of us?"

Nathan stopped, then gave a laugh. Detective Carter and Arthur also suddenly looked uncomfortable.

"There are four of us here, Harold," he said jokingly.

"But you said that if I went back the four of you would protect me," he stated. "There are only three of you. Unless, someone isn't here."

Detective Carter and Arthur looked at Nathan while he gave a careless laugh.

"Come on, Harold, was I ever good at math?" Nathan asked.

"Nathan, who is missing? Who isn't here?" Harold pressed.

With each question Nathan looked more and more uncomfortable. He looked away. Harold stepped closer to him, forcing him to make eye contact.

"Who is missing, Nathan?" he asked quietly.

"He didn't want you to know he was here," Nathan answered carefully.

"Who didn't?" Harold pressed.

"Me," a new voice said behind him.

Harold turned around, seeing a man about five feet away from him with his back to him. Harold's eyes widened in recognition as the man slowly turned around.

"Mr. Collier," he gasped.

The young man averted his eyes as Harold spoke. Instantly, Harold knew that this was not the cocky, arrogant young man that had put the U.S. government on trial. He was different. This was the broken young man that Greer had reduced him to.

"Can I just say," Arthur interrupted. "I was against this from the start. I said there was no way that-"

"Arthur," Nathan warned.

Arthur threw Collier a dirty look but listened to Nathan.

Harold looked at Peter Collier. It didn't make any sense. The man had tried to kill him several times and now he was protecting him from beyond the grave? And alongside his friends?

"I don't understand," Harold finally choked out. "You hated me. You had a shotgun to my chest."

"I didn't hate you," Collier whispered. "I actually had great respect for you. Even through all our differences, you were a man of integrity. A man willing to die rather than compromise his morals. I never hated you. But I was angry. At the government. At Decima. I was angry at you for what you built."

"Yet, here you are," Harold said, regarding him coldly. "Why are you here?"

Peter Collier waited for a moment to gain his composure.

"I heard once," he began. "That the Founding Fathers didn't always agree. In fact, some of them downright hated each other. But Franklin got them to work together. He said 'now we all must hang together or-'"

"'-Or most assuredly, we will hang separately,'" Harold finished*. Collier nodded then he continued.

"For months after I died, I burned with anger at what Decima had done," He began. "All those civilians and cops Greer killed for his own purpose. But even that wasn't enough for him. I watched as he started massacring people. My friends were gunned down like animals on the street. And not just them. Other people too. Everyone who was even remotely affiliated with any of our operations. He murdered them all."

Collier grew angry as he recounted it. For an instant, Finch got a vision of the young man he had known and feared. Collier took a moment to take control of his temper.

"Anyway, I watched them and I saw the government and Decima using this information abuse far more than I had ever seen. And Decima was using it doing who knows what. It was only later I realized what was really happening. Their Machine, Samaritan was the one abusing the information. It was doing things your machine never did."

"In your eyes, my Machine was the lesser of two evils," Harold realized.

Collier nodded.

"And that's why you're siding with us to fight Samaritan?" Harold continued.

"I couldn't stand by while Samaritan turned America into an oppression state," Collier explained. "More than it already was," he added.

"But that's not all," Nathan cut in. "He was the one who came up with the idea of attacking the information."

"I always hated surveillance," Collier said. "Why not put that hatred to use?"

"But why would you protect me?" Harold asked, turning his attention back on to Collier.

"Like the Founding Fathers, I found myself in a war I didn't fully understand. I didn't trust you and I hung separate. No more," Collier said. "The words Franklin spoke united the Founding Fathers. For the duration of the war, they were able to work together to fight a common enemy despite their differences."

"And now that common enemy is Samaritan," Harold said. Collier nodded. "And this is our revolution."

"I know a new American Revolution isn't your thing, Harold," Collier began.

"I already told you, Mr. Collier," Harold began. "The problem wasn't your ideology. It was your methods."

"I see that now," Collier said, his voice low. "And now Samaritan is an enemy we both face. It must be destroyed. And you have the power to do that. We must all work together, or everyone will die."

Harold had already known this. He had told John and Ms. Shaw repeatedly that they were fighting a war they could not lose. But to hear it from someone else filled him with an urgency to end Samaritan once and for all.

"I have to go back," he said, voicing his decision from earlier. "They need me. They won't be able to stop Samaritan without me."

"Are you sure?" Nathan asked. "That Root woman looks like she'd be pretty capable at finding a solution."

"That's just it," Harold said. "If I don't go back, she would have to figure it out on her own. You have Arthur to help on this side of things. Me going back would balance things out. Both sides will have two technologically astute people as well as two enforcers."

"Okay, Harold," Nathan consented.

"I will be back," Harold said. "But for now, my work is not done."

"I'm sorry, Harold." Arthur said. It was so low that Harold could barely hear him.

"For what?" Harold asked, confused.

"My stupid code," he said. "I created a monster."

"You could not have known what Samaritan would do," Harold said. "I don't even fully understand the capabilities of the program I made."

"Yeah but if I hadn't built it, you wouldn't be here. And it wouldn't be out there creating this chaos," Arthur said.

Harold was silent for a moment as he considered what to say.

"If you hadn't built it, I wouldn't have had the chance to say good-bye to a friend," Harold pointed out.

Arthur still looked uncertain, but nodded.

He moved to face Detective Carter.

"Detective, It does my heart good to know that you are here," he said earnestly.

"You and John told me all the time and the same applies to you: you are not alone," she said. "You're not alone in this fight. We care about you and we will help you fight Samaritan. Never forget that."

"Thank you, Detective," Harold said.

"And tell John the same thing," she added.

"I will," he promised.

He turned toward his body and moved toward it. He wasn't sure how this would work but he suspected that something like instinct would kick in.

"Harold," a voice stopped him. Collier's voice.

Harold turned to him.

"I know it doesn't mean much," he began. "After this is all over, I'll probably go to Hell.** But for what it's worth, I'm sorry. For everything."

Harold nodded calmly. He turned back to his body. He touched his hand and suddenly felt a rush of warmth. He pulled back momentarily, looking at Nathan.

"It'll be okay, Harold," He encouraged.

Turning back to his body, he briefly closed his eyes before reaching forward to merge with his body.

XxXxXxX

John sat next to Harold's bed, fuming with rage that Martine had been able to get away. She had known that they were better prepared than normal and, fearing an unfair fight, she had left. He had managed to fire a few shots after her, but, fearing that Harold would die, he had to let her get away. The next time he saw her, there would be no mercy. Normally, he was against killing women. Had always hated it. But all bets were off when anyone messed with his friends.

He startled as Harold's body suddenly twitched. His heart stopped as he looked over. Harold's face was ashen white, his teeth clenching in his head and he wasn't twitching, this was a full-on seizure. Bear began barking in agitation, sensing that something was wrong with his charge.

"Harold!" he called, moving to stand over his friend. "Doctor! Get in here!"

Dr. Madani came in and burst into action. He grabbed a flashlight and moved to check Harold's pupils but by the time he got to Harold's side, his patient lay still. His breathing was a little tattered and his pulse was quick but he was stable.

John watched his partner's chest rise and fall, relief growing in his chest. This was the first absolute sign that Harold would make it.

XxXxXxX

Harold awoke a few hours later, a stabbing pain in his side and no memory of what happened. His bullet-wound still felt like it was burning, but not nearly as much as it was. The pain was no longer driving him insane but it was still a sharp constant agony in his torso. He moved to sit up, gasping as the movement pulled at his stitches.

"Don't move, Harold," he heard John say.

There was a warm sensation on his hand as Bear licked him.

"Hello Bear," he said weakly, moving to scratch his ears. "What happened?" he asked.

"You got shot," John answered. "Shaw, Fusco, Root and I got there just in time to save you. There was a day when we wondered if you would make it."

Harold's mind was rushing. There was some part in his mind that had already known this. He tried to remember...something. There was something he was forgetting. What was it?

"How did you find me?" Harold asked.

"At first I thought the Machine had warned us," John answered. "But then Fusco had gotten the same message and Root said that the Machine had been risking it only warning her."

"Message?" Harold repeated. The word stirred something in his memory.

"Something sent all of us a message, warning us about Martine going to your office," John explained. "I got it, Shaw got it, even Fusco got it. At first, we thought it was the Machine but then I remembered, Fusco doesn't know about the Machine."

Then everything came back to him, the shooting, seeing his body, Nathan, Arthur, Carter, Collier, choosing to come back. The only thing he didn't remember in full detail was rejoining his body.

"I remember," Harold whispered.

"Remember what?" John asked.

Harold looked at him. Should he tell him? He didn't doubt that John would believe him but this was a private experience and Harold was a private person. Maybe someday he would tell him the details. But for now he had a promise to keep.

"All you need to know Mr. Reese," he said, "Is that we are not alone in this fight. There will always be people to help us no matter how hard it gets."

John, who was used to Harold's private nature, nodded his understanding.

"I mean it, John," He insisted. "You are not alone."

John froze as he recognized the content of that message. Something he had once told a friend so long ago.

_Whether you like it or not, Joss, you're not alone._

He looked back at Harold, whose subtle nod confirmed his suspicion. He didn't know how, but Joss Carter was still fighting on their side.

XxXxXxX

Harold's friends watched as he returned to his body. They listened as Harold gave Carter's message to John.

"Okay," Nathan said, getting everyone's attention. "He's getting ready to do his job. Let's make sure we do ours. Whatever happens Samaritan cannot win."

They all nodded their understanding and got to work.

**THE END**

XxXxXxX

End Notes: Okay so just a couple of notes.

1) *This is my absolute favorite quote by Franklin so I wanted to include that as something that both Finch and Collier would know.

2) **Sorry to get religious, but it's very hard to talk about the afterlife and not get religious. They kind of go hand-in-hand.

3) The criteria I had for who would talk to Harold was 1. know Harold and 2. know about the Machine. Which is why I included Collier and not Hersh because Hersh did know about the Machine but he didn't know Harold. Not really. And Carter and Collier both found out about the Machine shortly before their deaths.

Also with the Arthur and Collier scene I wanted to get a little bit of Artie from Warehouse 13 in there, since they're practically the same character played by the same actor.

And I wanted to showcase Collier because he is one of the few villains that I can agree with the motives. I agree with a lot of what he said and I also saw a lot of parallels for the Revolution in fighting Samaritan and I wanted to incorporate that. Anyway, tell me what you think.


End file.
